Midas
by Abigail-Nicole
Summary: Some things can't be cured, some wounds never heal, and what some would envy is not always a gift. The Midas touch is always a curse.


**Midas**

_Summary: Some things can't be cured, some wounds never heal, and what some would envy is not always a gift. The Midas touch is always a curse._

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or Scott. 

* * *

"Hey Blondie!"

The girl in the front of the bus turned her head slowly. Even in the stormy light, her hair shimmered gold. The men in the back were laughing to each other, obviously drunk. 

"Yeah Goldilocks, why don't you come back here with me?" one of them leered, grinning drunkenly. Scott's eyes followed him instinctively, ready to intervene if so needed. 

The blonde girl smiled, but only Scott saw the frosty, malicious edge, and he tensed. The girl rose languidly and sauntered to the back of the bus, showing off her form--a tight gold top under a black belly shirt, baggy black pants and gloves that glinted the same hue as her hair. 

"Why don't you give me some sugar?" one asked, grinning stupidly. The girl shook her head and with one graceful motion, began pulling the glove off her left hand as she leaned agianst the seat opposite the men. When she spoke, her voice was as golden and smooth as her hair. 

"I don't kiss ass."

The other man began laughing racously and his partner's face turned ugly. He leaned toward the blonde, and Scott tensed, ready to intervene. But before he could, the girl had reached foward, her bare left hand touching the man's face. He gasped, eyes wide, as golden lines creeped across his face, his skin hardening, his lips frozen open. 

Scott jumped up and roughly pushed the girl away, careful not to touch her skin. The girl ran calculating, cold eyes over him, pausing on his visor. "A famous X-Man?" she asked softly. Her lipstick was gold, flecked with silver glitter that flashed in the half-light. 

"We're getting off," Scott said abruptly and pushed her forward by the back of her shirt, signaling the driver to stop. The bus pulled to a halt at a corner, and Scott pushed her off onto the street. She turned to face him as the bus pulled away. Her eyes were a warm earthen brown, flecked with green, but filled with cold contempt. 

"Don't pull stunts like that."

She regarded him coldly. "He was harassing me."

"Look Blondie, you could have ignored him. I could have handled it. That's exactly why we have the reputation we have."

She arched a high golden eybrow. "We? Just how many of you are there?"

"You've heard the stories. Who are you? Why did you come?"

She laughed softly; a golden deep sound. "I'm Blondie, right? That's been it the whole way down. I'm the fairy princess, Goldilocks, Aphrodite." She spread her hands apart, both gloved. "I'm Midas."

Scott stared into her face, into her earthen hazel eyes, and the bitter cold apathy he found there struck him . "Where are you going?"

Blondie shrugged. "Here, there. Wherever I fancy--I'm not short on cash."

"I imagine," he said wryly. "Why don't you go to the Institute? They'll be after you...if they're not already." He paused, and he knew that he didn't have to fill in the blanks--her eyes flickered momentarily with raw fear and he knew he had hit home. "We can take care of that--protect you."

Blondie stretched idily, forcing her face into a cold smile. "Again with the we," she commented lightly. "Who? How many? Or do you just have a mouse in your pocket."

"The X-Men."

"Ah, again with the mysterious X-Men. I suppose I'll have to meet them, someday."

"Why not today? Come with me, then," Scott said, but he made no move. Blondie's smile of amused condescension widened. 

"You're truly _not_ that stupid, I hope?"

"No," Scott said quietly.

Blondie laughed. "At last, someone with intelligence in this city. Why should I care about your X-Men?"

"What do you care about?"

Blondie's smile faded and her eyes narrowed. "Tricks, tricks, red eye. I tire of tricks and games, and I refuse to play. I have no reason to trust you. Give me one reason that will keep you from being a gold statue where you stand, and maybe I will."

"Because I can give you hope. You get sick of this, don't you Blondie? Get sick and tired of the hate, the fear, the distrust, the running, the paranoia. You're a cynic. You need hope."

Blondie's face never changed. "What have you got, X-Man?" she challenged, her eyes narrow. 

"I'll show you."

He held his breath, and his eyes were on her immobile face, beautiful yet haughty and cold, with eyes that looked as if they were meant for laughter, out of place on her cold face. If he lost her now, God knew where she'd go, or what she'd do. 

Her gloved hands curled into fists, the gold shimmering under the grey sky. "Lead on," she said quietly, her eyes never leading his face. 

* * *

Scott paused in the hall. It was eleven, and everyone should have been out of the rooms at classes by now, so it was only natural that a sound brought his attention down that hall. As he moved closer, he paused. There was a crunch, as if someone were stepping on broken glass, then a dull thud, then another crunch, in a never-ending cycle. 

He stopped, leaning in the open doorway. Blondie had not fit in and rapidly deteoriated, her face haggard without makeup, her outer black pants smudged with gold from a careless touch. The bed she lay on was unmade and solid gold, so shiny it hurt to look at. Her gloved hand was throwing a ball into a wall where there had once been a mirror, which was lying on golden fragments on the floor, red stains all too reminiscent of fresh blood. Thump on the wall, crunch on the mirror on the floor, smack in her hand, then back on the wall. 

"You could do something."

Blondie's laugh was bitter now, with a raw hard edge. "Be realistic, Cyclops," she taunted. "I'm a mutant fuck-up. It's impossible for me to be normal." Her laugh this time was raw with an edge of hysteria that sent shivers down his spine. "Can't even fucking kill myself, and I won't live like they want me to."

"What?" Scott asked, truly shaken, but before he could move, Blondie grabbed her glove and ripped it off--her hand was extrodinarily clean, her fingernails clear. She grabbed a pen, gold instantly in her fingers, and drove it straight at her heart before he could blink--the soft metal twisted, barely bringing blood. 

"Can't touch anything." Blondie's golden voice was bitter as well. "It can rip the shirt, sure, but the minute it touches my skin--" she cut off and made a gesture, throwing the pen at the wall with force. "I can't touch anything. Makes sex really suck."

Scott didn't even ask--she probably had. "What about the suit?" he asked, but before he could say more she laughed, a laugh that had no amusement and was full of disgust. 

"I won't live like that. I _can't_ live like that." She stared at the wall beside him as if to say more, but didn't. Her eyes looked far away and the bitterness there touched something in him. 

"Don't you have anyone who cares?" he asked gently. 

"A fucking father. All he thought of was the money--son of a bitch used me to turn whole fucking cars into gold, used me to get cash payoff. Hated mutants, though. I would have been sold out as a whore if it weren't for that--not that he didn't try it." Her laugh was raw. "When I was thirteen. That's when it happened, you know--powers emerging at puberty and all that shit. Used to have brown hair." She ran a hand through her hair, gold supermodels would have died for, and smiled bitterly. 

"What did you do?" 

"Ran." Blondie shrugged. "One day I just got up and said: 'I'm through with this shit' and took the first bus out of town." 

There was a pause as she stared out the window, away from Scott, her eyes mellowing as she looked out on the sunlight streaming through the trees. A stifled sob rose in her throat and she quickly looked down, brushing a tear instantly turned to gold off her face as she took a deep breath. Blondie was trembling, her hand shaking as she fumbled to put her glove on. 

"What are you going to do?"

Blondie looked up at him, and suddenly she stood up, her bare feet touching the carpet, sending veins of gold curling in front of her, filling themselves in with the rare metal. "I can't stay here. I'm sorry; I thought I had a chance here." 

He wanted so much to stop her, he wanted to tell her that this was her chance, and that she had to stay--but the words died on his lips and he just stared at her as she continued. Her smile was bitter, and it occured to Scott that she had never really smiled. "Probably some goddamn psychological complex that has to do with a fear of people." 

They both knew she was right, but Scott was silent, not asking when or how. He had a strange bond with this girl, and he as much as he wanted her to stay, he didn't know what he could do to make her stay. It wouldn't work and they both knew it. Finally he spoke up. 

"What's your real name?"

Blondie's head jerked up, caught completely off guard. "What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"My real nams is Scott Summers. Who are you?"

A bell rang in the background and the noise of students began to fill the hall. Blondie met his eyes. "Today," she whispered. "You won't see again." 

The noise of students came towards them, and neither one of them moved, although they knew their time was short. She looked up at him and smiled suddenly; a real smile full of gratitude that made her eyes light up with the golden rays of summer, warm and sweet, full of happiness and sunshine, and suddenly they didn't look wrong on her face at all. "Thanks," she whispered. "I'm Sarah. Sarah Marie Kellan." 

* * *

**Notes:** Sorry, just a ficlet idea. I know I don't write X-Men, so don't expect much more. Feel free to use her in a fic if you want, though I don't see why you'd want to. You could do a lot with her. Corny? Deep? Good? Bad? Review! 


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